Tagger
by achieving elysium
Summary: AU. In a world in which art is banned, Percy Jackson plays the dangerous role of tagger, a graffiti artist hunted down for his art. He's determined for the world to know what freedom feels like. With secrets on the rise and dealing with the new recruits on his team, there's only so much he can handle. [turned into original novel, Criminal. There is more info on my bio.]
1. Chapter 1

**Tagger**

_AU. In a world in which visual art - drawings and so on - is banned, Percy Jackson plays the dangerous role of tagger, a graffiti artist hunted down not only for his art but his "acts of vandalism." But he's determined for the world to know the beauty behind his art. With secrets on the rise and dealing with the new recruits on his team, there's only so much he can handle._

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_CHAPTER ONE:  
[written June 16, 2014, finished June 17, 2014]_

:::

Percy twirled the pen in his right hand; leaning back into his rickety (but very comfy) chair, he waited for his fellow Campers to arrive. Stopping the pen in between his fingers, he set it down on the surface of the sleek table and stared at the empty chairs. There were twenty one of them - all cheap or old, salvaged from the streets or bought at secondhand stores. The table was fancier than them, made of smooth mahogany. It was a round table, designs etched all over it.

The room was rather large. The townhouse itself had once been something that had perhaps been beautiful. Now, it was overrun by vines crawling up the messy brick, the gate broken, giving the townhouse a rather haggard look. The windows were boarded up from the inside - a precaution, as no one wanted to be caught.

It didn't take long for people to begin arriving. He stopped drumming his fingers on the table when Reyna walked in. She'd grown a little taller than the last time he'd seen her, which was months ago. She looked great. Wearing a hunter's jacket over a purple top, she stuck to the darker colors as was mandatory. The thing that surprised him, though, was her hair. It looked as if she'd had it chopped short. One end was higher than the other, and the lowest point rested barely above her shoulder.

She grinned as she slid into the seat to his right.

"I got new ink," she told him, dark eyes sparkling. Percy resisted the urge to pump his fist in the air. He'd been pushing for his Campers to get tattoos since last year.

"Well," a voice called. "Let's see it." He looked up. Jason snapped a mock-salute, sitting on Percy's left and leaning forwards on the table.

Reyna turned slightly in her chair, pushing back her hair. On the nape of her neck rested her signature - a large, ornate letter 'S' with a purple serpent coiled around it. He ran his fingers over it, pleased. A sign of loyalty.

"I like it," he told her. She flushed, turning back around.

"I don't," Jason announced. He could see why - Reyna had her tattoo strategically placed. Her hair barely covered it. But that was a part of the fun: the danger.

He snorted. "Lighten up, Jagg." As much as Percy liked his fellow Camper (and cousin!), the boy was too cautious. He was usually a flyer, what the Campers had come up with for the term of lookout.

"Still don't."

"But that makes it all the more fun," he protested. Jason shook his head, sighing, the two silver earrings in his left ear catching the light.

"Don't what?" Thalia walked in, and following her were the twins - Alice and Julian, both waving and both wearing a cheeky smile.

"He doesn't like my new tattoo," Reyna offered.

"Brother mine, if you're so worried, then drag her to get it removed." A pause. "Like Percy would _ever_ let you do that, anyway."

He had his own tattoo just below his collarbone, on the left side covering his heart. It was a 'R' with the first vertical line of the letter a detailed, black feather. It was well-hidden, though still visible if he wasn't careful.

The talking only intensified as more people flooded in. The Campers chatted about anything and everything, like how is your dog or wow your hair looks nice or I heard they're selling acrylic in The Grey Zone is that true or I want food.

"Campers!" he yelled over the din. Everyone calmed down - well, not exactly, more like energy-filled but alert - enough for him to talk. "Welcome home."

Everyone cheered at this statement. They had all missed the family and freedom of Camp Half-Blood. And of course, so had he.

He looked around at the smiling faces and noticed something that he had not before. Piper wasn't here. The seat on the far side of the table was empty. He raised an eyebrow.

"Anyone know where Piper is? We can't start until all members are present." There were a few mutterings of 'no.'

"She's bringing a recruit, I think," Hailee called from the front. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. A new recruit. If they liked the recruit enough, they'd initiate the person into the Camp on probation. They would test the recruit again and again, in different ways, until the final decision a week after the first day of initiation, to decide if probation turned into newbie or if they were kicked out.

"A new recruit," he mused.

A few people waited to see his reaction. He shrugged, reaching up to adjust the grey beanie on his head. "Everyone ready for initiation?" A cheer rose inside the house. He focused on their newest member - Po, who had only joined two months prior. He was laughing.

That was the moment Piper decided to walk in. Following the girl was another girl, shy and afraid. He studied her in the light of the flames. She had blonde, curly hair tucked into a ponytail, a feather in it, and when she looked up from the floor, he noted that she had grey eyes the color of smoke. The recruit was wearing simple clothes - a holed sweater and under that, a dark top with jeans.

He profiled her: shy, the kind of person to shy away from the limelight, but the kind of person determined for success. That meant she liked the attention but wasn't used to it. She sought out comfort. But smart, definitely intelligent from the way she looked at them. He nodded slowly; he could work with a person like that.

She didn't seem too athletic though. That wasn't a good thing, but he kept an open mind. Depending on how well she worked under pressure, the athletic aspect would either make it or break it.

Piper seated herself, her braided, white-bleached hair at the opposite end of the table easily spotted. The recruit shifted nervously, looking for somewhere to sit, probably, and afraid of the way the Campers judged her silently, watching like he did.

They watched her every move, taking mental notes. Some sat back and talked in quiet voices with the person next to them. Some were nonchalant, though he knew they were watching. Some just kept quiet where they were.

"Stay standing, please," he said quietly. She stopped shifting and focused on him, giving him a once-over. There was a spark of recognition. She knew him, he supposed. Many did.

"You're Rave," she stated. Sitting next to Jason, Thalia pounded her fist on the table twice, then after a long pause, one time more. It was a quiet but effective way to show approval. He cocked his head to acknowledge the action.

"I know you," she said, when he didn't reply. She swallowed. "from- from the streets, I mean." She ducked her head, but Percy caught the blush on her cheeks. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and neck. Sure, people knew him and his work, but people didn't address it so directly most of the time. Though he had to admit some of that was his fault. He asked them to keep quiet.

"I don't know you," he said slowly.

"I, uh, my name is Annabeth. Annabeth Chase." He bit his lip. Someone down the way pounded the table once, paused, and then twice. The opposite of approval. Disappointment, too, settled on his chest. First mistake.

Everyone took that in.

"Annabeth Chase," he repeated the name, letting it roll off his tongue. "And what drove you to find us, may I ask?" He kept his tone indifferent.

"Um. I- I don't know." Two people pounded this time. He frowned.

"You don't know?" he asked, curious. An interesting girl indeed. People came knowing; people came with a goal and the one underlying reason: art.

"Tell me, Annabeth," he punctuated her name. "do you like art?"

"Yes. It's beautiful to me." Thumps of approval. He agreed. This was a turning factor despite her mistakes. That was why Camp Half-Blood existed. Because art was something that exploded from their fingertips, because art was something beautiful, because art was not to be silenced. It was something with a mind of its own.

Yes, this was good.

He leaned back, thinking. Seeing this, Ser took over. "Tell us about yourself."

"What do I say?"

"Anything."

"I'm eighteen. Uh, I live with my dad here. I sing. I like reading books. I'm into the arts in general. I'm in the school choir and work at a bookstore. When nobody's looking, I sketch on my own and hide it under a loose board. Um, I don't- I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

Thalia piped up. "You like adventure?"

"Yeah, I guess." He could hear her relaxing as the Campers asked her questions, getting used to the atmosphere and talking passionately about herself. Potential. There was a lot of potential for her.

The question-and-answer session ran on for another thirty minutes or so. They asked her about her personal life, about her art, about her school and her friends and her hobbies and every single little detail, even though it seemed that it wasn't important.

"That's enough," he said, cutting in. Talking stilled. "Thank you for your time, Annabeth." Taking a deep breath, he glanced around the table and met the eyes of each Camper. He made his decision.

"Someone will come into contact with you by tomorrow. Meeting dismissed." The girl sputtered her thanks over and over. People filed out the door, patting Annabeth on the back and congratulating her. Thalia walked next to him, taking his hand and glancing over every now and then with her electric eyes. He laced their fingers together and squeezed.

"Thank you," Annabeth said again as she followed them. He flicked off the electric fireplace and walked blindly. No one but the recruit panicked.

He found her in the dark, brushing up next to her and putting his lips to her ear. Her hair smelled like lemons.

"Don't thank me yet," he whispered in the darkness. "Good luck, Annabeth."

:::

A few minutes later, he was dragging her outside.

The teens spilled out into the streets and ran hard. He whooped and raised his hands. Others did the same. They were a living, breathing mass that moved together as one. Feet pounded against concrete. Noise bounced off walls. Laughter rang in the air.

He relished in it all. The Campers weren't just taggers. They did almost everything deemed "acts of vandalism." Sometimes there was a reason. Sometimes there wasn't.

Annabeth was trying hard to keep up with them. Her face was a light red, and she took in shaky breaths. He grabbed her wrist as they ran. Her heart beat wildly under his fingertips, her skin cool from the wind.

"Calm down," he murmured. "Steady breathing." She nodded.

"Where- where are we going?" she rasped. He shrugged. She looked at him incredulously, her eyes widening in alarm and heartbeat going faster.

"You don't know?" she yelled at him, incredulous, over the sound of pounding feet and mismatched breaths. He shrugged again, not really paying attention. He made sure there were no tails on them before speeding up.

"That's how it works!" he yelled back. His beanie kept his hair from flying all over the place. Adrenaline ran through his veins, and he whooped again. Energy coursed through him. Every crisp breath and practiced movement made him feel alive.

He lived for this. He lived for his art, for the Campers, lived for these people because he loved each one of them like they were of the same blood, because they were unique and different and beautiful in its own way.

"How does it work?" Annabeth asked, slowing down and trying to pause. He shook his head and pulled her faster. They couldn't afford to fall behind. Thalia fell back and looped her arms with Annabeth's.

"The person in the very front chooses. Whoever is out first gets to choose what we do," she explained loudly, her spiky hair pushed back. Some days, they just ran. Some days, they grabbed drinks or danced in the streets or went zip lining or did something. Everything was exciting. And dangerous. But mostly exciting.

"FREE RUN!" the person in front announced. He cheered.

"Free run!" people echoed. He laughed. They hadn't had the chance to free run in a while. The first person - Julia, of course, identified by the many bracelets lining her right arm - scaled the side of the building easily, stopping at a balcony. She leaned over, hair moving wildly, and extended her arms. Nyssa ran straight and then pushed off of the garbage bin, arms outstretched. Their hands locked, and Julia pulled her up.

It was a matter of trust. The two laughed together before using the balcony railing to get to the flat roof, where they ran and disappeared from sight. He glanced over at Annabeth, who was pale and trying to slow down.

"What are you, scared?" he called. She rose to the challenge as he'd expected.

"I'm not scared," she protested, hesitating. Her voice faltered towards the end. "This is stupid! Do you know how dangerous this is? We could die!"

"Come on," Thalia yelled, laughing a little at Annabeth's speech. "Live a little!" People ran up in pairs or trios or quartets. Everyone knew each other. Their trust and friendship melded them together tightly.

The wall approached. Thirty feet. Twenty. Ten. Five.

He jumped first, having done this a thousand times during his younger years, before Camp Half-Blood. Before art. Before everything, back when he was thirteen and rebellious. He was the kind of person who didn't listen, who acted and moved and did.

He launched himself onto the lid, jumping from the ground to the top of the lid to the side of the balcony, turning his body in the air and catching the bars. He threw his head back, sweat pouring down his neck and hanging there for a second before swinging his feet and fitting them between the thin bars. He climbed over the railing to safety.

"Rave!" his companion called. He leaned over, the railing pressing into his stomach and grasped her wrists, pulling her up. She wasn't heavy - not light, but not heavy - and he pulled her up without any trouble.

Looking down, he noticed that Annabeth had stopped, looking up uncertainly. The bar was uncomfortable pressing into his stomach, but he kept his arms out, waiting. Another test. They'd been testing her from the moment she'd walked into that room.

"Come on, Annabeth," he called gently. "You can do it." She shook her head, gasping for air.

"No, I can't," she cried, her voice rising with each word.

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "You're brave. You're adventurous... Well, now you are. Maybe you're scared and all of a sudden there's this whole new world, but you can do it. You chose to join us, Annabeth, and now we're choosing you."

"No, no, no. This can't- I can't... I don't know!"

"Hey," he called, his tone soft. "Do you trust me?" There was a period of silence. He'd asked this question a lot over the years. A lot of people did for some reason. He wasn't sure why, but people had done the same thing and stopped panicking and trusted him.

"I... yes," the girl whispered. He could still hear her clear as day from where he was standing.

Then she backed up a little and charged the garbage bin, leaping on it. He leaned further, hands twisting before they wrapped around her wrists. He hauled her up, and she gasped, laughing hysterically and taking in air.

He waited until they were all ready before they crawled onto the roof together.

And the three of them ran.

:::

The city was quiet for once.

He swung his legs back and forth like a little kid. His heels bounced off of the wall, making soft thuds every time they hit. Thalia sat next to him, staring at the sky.

Something creaked. The cousins looked down instinctively at the noise. Across the alley, a light was on and flooding the alley with light. Annabeth stepped out on her own balcony, dressed in a ratty old tee and leggings.

They studied each other for a few seconds.

"Goodnight," the girl offered. He just lifted a hand in farewell, and she went back inside, the lights turning off. He leaned back on his hands and stared at the blanket of darkness they called the sky.

The moon shone brightly, a sliver of silver in the sky. He let out a breath of air.

"I like her," he stated. Thalia leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her. Her hair felt strange against his neck, but the weight was familiar. He closed his eyes.

"Yeah. She's got it," she replied. "She has that something."

"Doesn't she."

"Hmmm," came the reply. "I'm glad Piper brought her in." He felt her smile. He hummed in content, his thoughts wandering to Jason, who had gone home with Reyna, who was probably in for a very sleepless night. Then his thoughts rolled over to Annabeth, sleeping a building away.

"Let's not regret it," he told her, absentmindedly tracing his name on the rough stone under his fingers.

:::

The next day, he watched Piper walk past Annabeth, bumping into her. She apologized loudly, helping to gather Annabeth's belongings and in a smooth move, slipping the paper into her binder. The girl left before Annabeth could react, leaving her standing in the school hallway, confused.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when she noticed the note.

Sliding out of his seat, he walked in her direction and walked past her, following Piper down the street. As he passed, he made sure to wink. Percy didn't look back at her at all.

He could feel her gaze burning a hole in his back and could almost envision a faint smile playing on her lips.

:::

_Tonight, 7:00 PM. Keep an eye out._

_Signed,_

_THE CAMPERS OF CAMP HALF-BLOOD_

* * *

Oh, shut _up. _I know the ending's shitty. Ugh, couldn't get that last scene right.

But I hope you like it maybe? Thanks for reading it, at least. I'd be really grateful if you left a review, or (shameless plug time) go check out my other sixty-some stories. Yayy.

Have a good one,

_achieving elysium _


	2. Chapter 2

**Tagger/Criminal Update**

* * *

For those of you who decide this is TL;DR/too long to read, there is a simplified version at the bottom. (**TL;DR Version**)

* * *

I know it's been a very long time since I updated this story, but there is a very good reason for it. After first posting this story in August of 2014, it came to my attention that what was happening in _Tagger _\- the ideas, characters, and world - was evolving to become something that cannot fit inside the Percy Jackson/fandom universe.

In other words, this fanfiction and idea developed into a novel.

In November of 2014, I participated in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, as I promote a lot) and wrote the story _Criminal_, taking ideas from _Tagger _and changing them.

It's now late June of 2015. It's been almost seven months since I started _Criminal _and nine since I started _Tagger. _I have not touched either story since then, with the busy school year, other writing works, and other things you won't care to hear about.

HOWEVER:

Yesterday, I was presented with a chance to pull out _Criminal _from the corner of my mind and a metaphorically dusty computer file in a real-life writing contest. To win this contest - to even _participate _in it - is a huge deal, because I can possibly win one hundred and fifty dollars as well as an editorial review. This is a chance I'm not sure I'll get again, and I'm taking it.

That being said, what is the fate of _Tagger _if _Criminal _goes on in the world?

I made a promise to myself that I would never discontinue or delete any of my fanfiction stories, no matter how bad. I am breaking that promise. Because _Tagger _has evolved into an original work - even as vastly different as the two are - I will not be continuing it as a fanfiction. I'm sorry for the people who wanted me to continue.

ON THE OTHER HAND:

I still want to share _Criminal _with the world. And I want to give my readers - of _Tagger _\- the same choice. For those of you who are interested, I will be sharing (via Google Docs) what I have of the story by July 1st, when I'm supposed to turn in the final entry of my work. (This is twenty to thirty pages of _Criminal_.)

This means you get the chance to read as I work on it; and later, if it ever gets published... well, you get bragging rights seeing as you got to see this novel when it first started.

I hope you guys understand and support me. I'm so grateful for you guys.

_CRIMINAL: _

_Criminal _is a completely different story. Let's talk about it. Here comes the WIP summary.

_What is an artist in a world with no art? _

Years after America banned art, replacing it with only government-approved works, Rave is a famed street artist known for his work. He journeys across the country, working with the Underground - a network of illegal artists - to stay hidden and free. Running with Sera, his best friend and a dancer, the journey suddenly turns even more dangerous when Hunter, the best Fugitive Recovery agent America has, chases after them.

Cas is a young trainee in the Fugitive Recovery program, following in the footsteps of his father, Hunter, and as the best in his class, he has a lot to live up to. When Cas is assigned a mission - to go undercover and find Underground locations, he takes it. Posing as a runaway from the military, he finds himself with a new life on the run. But as time passes and he learns more about art, he begins to question the world he lives in - and himself.

Cas' and Rave's stories twist together to create one as the line between what is right and wrong is destroyed.

...That summary turned out to be a longer one than I planned. Sorry.

**TL;DR version: **

_Tagger _turned into an original novel, renamed _Criminal, _that will be entered into a writing contest. _Tagger, _the FF, will be discontinued, but if you wish to read (a part of) _Criminal, _please tell me, and I will PM you. Thanks yo. (Summary of Crim is up there.)

So if you guys are interested or have any hate/love messages to tell me, review or PM me.

Thanks for understanding,

_achieving elysium _

Edit, July 5, 2015: I've entered the competition. If you want to read it, you'll have the sample of what I'm entering and _not _the entire/rest of the novel that I'm working on.

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS AN EXCERPT OF CRIMINAL.


	3. Criminal - Chapter One

**Criminal**

_Chapter One_

The backpack, mostly filled with half-used spray paint cans alongside a couple of other necessities, clattered as Rave set it down. He tugged off his jacket, too, unzipping the bag and stuffing it in. Both would slow him down.

"We don't have all day, slowpoke!" Sera nudged him, her eyes bright. "Hurry up and go." Rave rolled his eyes, but he grinned at her.

"Explains why you're still on this roof, huh?" She huffed and smacked his arm, impatient. He stretched his arms in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet and eyeing the gap between the buildings. It was about eight feet across, a smaller alley that he was used to clearing. It'd be a piece of cake.

Sera stepped to the side, watching as he backed up a couple of feet. He could feel her eyes on him, waiting for him to make the jump. He sprinted forward, feet pounding against the rough surface of the flat roof.

Rave didn't hesitate, his speed picking up as he neared the edge. Then he pushed himself off with one foot, gaze locked on the lower roof in front of him. There was a moment of silence as time seemed to slow. Wind whipped past his face. The world around him was sharp and clear; he picked out the details of the windows, the contrast of colors on the walls, and exactly how far away he was from the ground.

And then he landed hard in a crouch, the surface crunching under his feet.

"Took you long enough!" The call was almost whipped away by distance and wind, but he managed to hear it. He just snorted and stepped off to the side, not wanting to be hit in the face by his backpack or body-slammed by his friend.

The black backpack sailed through the air in a perfect arc; Rave jogged back, eyes fixed on the flying projectile. If he wasn't careful enough, it would hit him - or worse, splatter on the ground in a mess of smashed cans and a black backpack that would no longer be its original color.

He caught it, the straps looping around his right arm. Sera followed afterwards, tucking into a roll upon contact and therefore coming to a stand.

"Show-off," he joked, slinging a strap over a shoulder. She scowled at him.

"Why are we jumping roofs, anyway?" she asked, coming to stand by Rave. "I mean, there's no point in it. We could've just walked."

He shrugged. "It's fun," he pointed out, gesturing at a distant point. "And people don't like us doing it, which makes it more fun."

Sera raised an eyebrow. "That's the only reason?" she cried, incredulous, staring at him. "Just because you want to have fun?" He pushed her shoulder gently.

"Loosen up, Sera," he told her. "Live a little. And actually, the safehouse is all boarded up, but apparently there's an entrance on the roof or something."

"Fine, whatever," she quipped, having lost the argument. Then, quieter, "We better not be sliding down some chimney. I'd rather sleep outside than do that."

Thankfully, it wasn't a chimney. There was a rooftop terrace and just a door that the lock had already been broken off of. Rave put his shoulder to the door and shoved. The door didn't budge. Sera tried after him, but despite their attempts, the door wouldn't move. There had to be another lock on the inside.

Sera glared at him, and he shrugged helplessly. "I never said the door worked," he told her, rolling his eyes as they made their way down from the roof. "I just knew there was one."

"Do you know who owns it?" she asked him when they reached the ornate door, waiting for him to knock. "You were the one who told me to meet you in this place before we split up."

"Yeah," he confirmed, curling his hand into a fist and trapping it on the door sharply three times. The door cracked open, and a pair of almond-colored eyes squinted at them.

"Alastair Young?" Rave asked before the man could speak. That wasn't the man's real name, of course, but only those who kept contact with members of the Underground would know it. The man nodded curtly.

"And you are?" he asked gruffly, letting them in. Rave pushed up the sleeves of his jacket, subtly showing off the tattoo on his wrist, a black feather.

"Rave," he answered, the name comfortingly familiar. Sera jabbed her elbow into his ribs, waiting for Alastair to recognize him. The man raised an eyebrow.

"You the street artist Hunter's after?" Rave groaned, and Sera held out a hand.

"You owe me five bucks," she told him happily. The two had a running bet on if people would recognize him or not, and so far, he'd been losing. "Pay up."

"Yeah, that's me," he told Alastair, pushing Sera's hand away. Alastair let out a low whistle.

"You should lie low then, boy," he said, shuffling past them to shut the door. A click sounded as he locked it. "And you, girl? You as famous as your friend?"

"Nah," she said. "I'm Sera, nice to meet you." Alastair appraised them both then nodded. Behind him, there was a set of old-looking stairs that looked like they'd collapse at any moment, leading up to what was obviously a second floor. Rave hoped they were safe enough to use.

The building seemed to be smaller on the inside than it appeared on the outside, which was a first. Light spilled through the cracks between the wooden planks nailed over the building's windows.

"What's up there?" Sera asked, peering from behind him. He stepped aside and let her pass. There probably wasn't much on the second floor.

Alastair led them up, each step creaking. They'd stepped into a hallway with different rooms branching off of it. As Sera looked around, Rave crossed over to one of the doors and yanked it open. A bedroom, an average size, but what caught his eye was the open duffel bag at the foot of the bed and the clothes scattered around the room.

"My room," Alastair explained. "There should be five or six other ones; take your pick."

It wasn't surprising there were still plenty of rooms left. The houses were built to - and could usually - accommodate a bunch of people. It was still a fairly large place, despite how much smaller it was compared to its outward appearance.

Sera must've reached the same conclusion. She wandered over to a staircase leading downstairs, leaning over the banister to look.

"There's a kitchen and living room downstairs," their host said. Rave claimed a room and put his things next to the bed - not that he had much, anyway. He'd lost most of it due to a scrape with a FR squad.

"Is there electricity here?" she called, halfway down the stairs, and Rave shut the door, following her. She disappeared, rounding a corner into what he assumed was the kitchen.

"Yes," Alastair answered. "The building is equipped with generators, and we use those instead of that other stuff."

A loud sound. Sera shrieked before proceeding to curse violently. The two of them exchanged glances. Hesitant, Rave stalked down the stairs into the front entryway and what was obviously a kitchen.

"Sorry," his friend said sheepishly.

There was nothing - no FR agent hiding in the pantry or even a spilled cup of water. Instead, Sera was sprawled on the ground, obviously having tripped. Over what, Rave couldn't tell, because there was absolutely nothing there.

"Um," he tried. "Did you just trip over thin air?" Her shoes didn't have laces, either. Added to the fact that she was a dancer and was supposed to have grace drilled into her - this was pure gold.

"Shut up," she grumbled, picking herself up. "Thanks for being concerned." Alastair barked out a laugh.

"No problem," the man replied before Rave could find a sarcastic enough answer.

The three of them stood around awkwardly. Rave took the opportunity to observe Alastair. The man looked like he was in his late twenties, but it was hard to tell. His hair, chopped short, had been bleached white. He was wearing old clothes - as all of them were, and Rave noticed the words SHADOW DANCE COMPANY stretched across the front of the shirt. A dancer, then.

"A dancer, huh?" Sera asked, leaning against the kitchen island and smiling. She'd noticed the shirt, too. "What kind of dance?"

The man straightened and met Sera and Rave's eyes in turn. "Contemporary," he said shortly, as if waiting for them to judge him. "You a dancer?"

Sera crossed her arms. "Used to be part of a dance company, too," she admitted. This wasn't new information to Rave at all, but the man seemed impressed. "We did all kinds of dance."

Alastair nodded before heading for the stairs, letting out a heavy sigh as he mounted the first step. "I'm gonna catch up on sleep. Be careful," he called back over his shoulder, pausing halfway up. "There's quite a few of them damn FR agents around here. Almost got caught by one of them." Then he disappeared upstairs, leaving the two teens to talk.

Rave crossed back to the living room, plopping down in one of the armchairs. Sera took a seat across from him, and for a minute, they sat in a comfortable silence.

"I like him," Sera declared, not too quietly.

"Yeah," Rave agreed, glancing at the second floor. "He's a… an interesting guy."

Alastair didn't talk much, and he seemed to be more of a harsh kind of person - but there was something familiar about him and the way he acted, quietly confident and cautious at the same time, something comforting in how real he was.

"We're not alone anymore," Sera said quietly. She looked wistful for a moment, with him in body but not in spirit. "It's not just us two - or completely alone since we split up in Colorado."

He nodded slowly. They'd stuck together, the two of them, ever since they'd met three or four years ago. It had only been recently that they'd separated, after that safehouse in Colorado had become, well, not-so-safe.

He'd gotten used to it, used to only caring about Sera, not because he didn't care for other artists but because she was the only one he could really trust. He'd gotten used to being in a two-person team without anyone else. It wasn't necessarily uncommon to run into other artists on the run, but with how extensive America and the Underground was, coupled with the FR cracking down on them more than ever, the chances of running into other people weren't very high.

"And now here we are." He spoke his thoughts aloud. "There's three of us, but I guess we gotta do what we gotta do."

Sera stood, a look of restlessness crossing her features. "I need to dance," she told him, already working her short legs down into a split. She stretched forward as he watched in understanding. Dance was her outlet, pointed toes and the scrape of bare feet against the floor, every emotion and thought she had poured into it - just like art was his, drying paint and the scratch of pencil on paper.

Sera finished stretching and held out a questioning dance.

"Dance with me," she murmured. He groaned but stood, readying himself for some moderate embarrassment.

"I can't dance," he told her, already feeling awkward as he took her smaller hand. He thought of Alastair. "You're asking the wrong person."

"Hmm," she hummed, pulling him across the wooden floor. "You're just a scaredy-cat."

He smirked. "Is that a challenge I hear, Sera?"

The rest of the day seemed to fall away to the quiet pounding of feet and their too-loud laughter. Rave didn't mind a bit even as he twirled around, probably looking stupid. Art was a beautiful thing.


	4. Update 2

**Tagger/Criminal Update #2**

I know nobody wants to see this again, but here's something really quickly. I know people are concerned about maybe giving me some personal info (emails) so I can send you the link to _Criminal_.

I have the link now posted on my profile; just scroll to the bottom. Please refrain from using/sharing any of my personal info and/or _any_ of my writing. Thank you.

_achieving elysium_


	5. Update or Something

_**Criminal Update**_

So lately, there's been a stir around my original story, _Criminal. _I don't know why or how, but I'm glad everyone enjoyed reading the five chapters I'd written. I have also been messaged/reviewed with people asking when I will "update" or if you will be able to read more.

So here's the answer.

I thought I had made it clear enough _last year_. _Criminal _is an original story. It is my pride and joy, something I've worked hard on because I love the story and the characters. It is something that I do want to share with the world.

However.

I also thought I made it clear that my goal for _Criminal _is to publish it. That means I will most likely _never _have the entire story in public to view and read, as if in the case I can publish, it would be unreasonable to have it online.

I have taken down the link on my profile to read the first five chapters of Criminal. I am no longer pleased with it as well as other personal reasons, and Criminal is undergoing major rework and writing. The goal is to finish the story by the end of 2016 - most likely by August.

I hope this clears everything up for those who have questions.

Thank you for reading and understanding, and please do not ask me to "update" _Criminal _or when I will be posting it up for the public. A note that this may change in the future. Upon finishing the book, I may look for beta readers to give me feedback. If you wish to be a beta reader, keep an eye out - I'll update this "fic" as stuff happens.

Thanks.

_achieving elysium _\- Annie


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